Pieces of You
by mamblore
Summary: Before you can love others, you must learn to love yourself. Companion Piece to Love is Blind. AU/AH. Jacob's POV.
1. If I Could Live Twice

**A/N: **Good morning! I'm so excited for this story. If you don't know already, this is the companion piece to Love is Blind. You don't have to read LiB to understand this story, although it is recommended.

It is a little difficult writing in a visually impaired man's POV. I did a little research and hope this seems as accurate as possible. I hope you all enjoy this, and I don't own anything that you recognize.

**Dedication: **To the people of Indianapolis, Indiana - my heart and prayers go out to you. It was a terrible thing that happened, and I hope that you all will continue to be strong. God bless you.

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><p><em>"But love is blind, and lovers cannot see<em>  
><em>The pretty follies that themselves commit."<em>  
><em>-William Shakespeare-<em>

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><p>The diner was filled with the light-hearted atmosphere of murmuring patrons and clinking dishes. If I focused hard enough, I could make out a conversation from across the room - something about the nice weather today. Sunshine, it was a nice change for dreary Forks. The sun's heat blazed through the windows, making the entire restaurant a little warmer than usual, but still bearable.<p>

I had decided, for shits and giggles, to visit Sam at his restaurant today. He was an old friend that I hadn't seen in a long time, and it was nice out, so why not? Besides, he gave me free food, which was always a plus in my book.

The stool next to me squeaked loudly under Sam's heavy weight as he sat and spun around.

"Jacob!" he greeted, smacking me lightly on the shoulder. "How's life been treating you? How's Harry?"

Life? Oh yeah, life was _fantastic_.

If being treated like a monster everywhere you went was - in your own opinion - fantastic.

I was blind, not stupid. I could still hear the murmurs of concerned parents as they pulled their children away. Still feel the warmth of a body against mine. A mother's touch. A father's words of encouragement. 'Way to go' or 'That's my boy.'

I could remember colors, although they were blurry and I had no names for them. The colors of bright heat - the sun - that shined upon the town. The sun that felt hot along your back while walking along a pavement road, counting steps.

This was your own personal hell, one that you can never escape. One that will always haunt you, and it will either kill you slowly, or you can suck it up and deal.

And then there was Harry. Harry Clearwater, the man who watched over me when my parents passed away. He wasn't really the father figure type; he was just _there_. He fed me and gave me shelter until I was 18, so I couldn't complain. Last I've heard of him, he was off in Seattle, looking for a 'better' job. As if he hadn't been trying for the last ten years.

"Life's good. Harry's. . . good," I lied smoothly. "Uh, so how are you and Em?"

Emily was Sam's wife. When they first dated a few years ago, she was all Sam talked about. His soul mate, his love, Emily blah Emily blah blah Emily.

It's not that I wasn't happy for him, but it had happened so quick, surprisingly so. Sam had always had a few relationships, nothing serious, but when he met Emily, everything changed. He spent less and less time at the shop where we worked together, and more time with Emily, like he was whipped out of his mind.

Six months later and he proposed - the real deal, and sealed that silver band on his finger.

_Until death do us part._ That's some serious shit right there.

"Emily is perfect," he said, a grin spreading slowly across his face. "You wanna talk to her?"

I shook my head. I loved Emily to death - she was such a sweetheart - but once she started talking, she wouldn't shut up. Seriously.

Yap yap yap, yap yap Sam is the best yap yap.

It was like a lock and key fit, those two. Sam was a listener; Emily was a talker.

We both sat in silence for a moment, before there was a _whoosh_ of hot air as the door opened. Two dainty heels clicked their way across the tile floor. I followed the noise before it fainted into the kitchen and then disappeared entirely.

That was new. Last time I checked, Sam didn't have any waitresses. Besides Emily, of course. The newbie must be special.

"You know, Jake, I gotta talk to my waitress real fast." Sam said her name quickly, but I didn't catch it. "You want some water? Coffee?"

"Water," I answered. "With lemon."

Yeah, with lemon. Because without it, water tastes nasty.

"Alright, be right out." He smacked my shoulder again and left.

I leaned forward and rested my head against the bar, just listening.

The unsteady hum of a much-abused ceiling fan whirred above my head, doing a pretty crappy job at cooling the room. I was sweating more than a virgin on prom night.

"Water . . . with lemon. " Sam said as he returned, setting the cup near my face. The ice cubes crackled against the sides of the glass.

He coughed a little nervously. "Emily's parents are here so, I had them . . . taken care of."

Ah, the parents of the bride. Emily's dad wasn't too bad, but Carrie, her mom . . . she was a piece of work, that woman.

I smirked. "Go take care of her. She loves you, you know."

"You're lying."

I laughed and took a sip of water. "No really, she loves you. But it's concealed deep, deep down in her black heart."

Sam's khaki pants wrinkled softly as he shifted his weight back and forth anxiously. "Alright. I'll be hiding in the kitchen until Carrie drags me out by her teeth. If I die, it's all on you."

I saluted him and he left, the rubber soles of his shoes dragging pitifully against the tile. It was so Sam - tough guy on the outside, patsy on the inside.

"Sammy!" Carrie's voice carried across the diner, rising dangerously in pitch. She had spotted him, the poor guy."SAMUEL!"

I could literally _feel_ every one's eyes sweep towards the kitchen, and all the usual clinking of dishes paused for a second, waiting for Sam to pop out.

I heard him curse under his breath - and then I heard giggling.

Giggling? The fuck? Sam didn't giggle.

Then I heard it again. The sound was sweet, flowing out freely like warm honey.

The click of heels walking towards me before hopping in a screechy chair a few seats on my left. Another giggle, before it faded off and a new sound began - a short, upbeat piano playing in a familiar tune. An MP3, I realized.

The song sounded familiar - something I had heard while rummaging through my dad's old records. My mind raced through names.

. . . Billy Joel. That was it. I'd have to find that record later and take another listen - if I still had it. Harry Clearwater, who took care of me when Mom and Dad died, might have an idea where it was. He had hoarded all of Billy's stuff in his attic instead of throwing it away. It was all too important to him, he had said. My dad was too important a friend to just 'throw away.'

"_Surely_ Billy Joel isn't distracting you from your job," I whispered. I had gotten a lot closer to her than expected, my breath heating up her cheek, and I could literally _smell_ her. Not that it was a bad thing. She smelled different, like a natural perfume of butter pecan and springtime, as opposed to the mixed grease and sweat smell of the diner. A nice change.

Nevertheless, I had expected a small cry of shock from her, or a scream even.

Instead, a small hand reached out and popped me right in the kisser. It hurt my ego more than it hurt me, but I didn't have a split-second to get angry before the same hand was on my cheek, soothing me.

Wait - soothing me?

Now, I didn't expect _that_ at all.

"Oh my goodness! Are you okay?" she asked .

Her voice was easily the loveliest sound I had heard in a while - so soft and shy. I don't know how she did it, but it reminded me of my mother. Of her voice. At least, what I remembered of Mom's voice.

I smiled and felt her fingertips stroke across my cheek before moving down my jaw line. The touch almost tickled, it was lighter than a feather.

Swallowing hard, I stuck my hand out to introduce myself like a proper gentleman. Or a fool. I was almost positive that she didn't want to talk to me.

"Sorry ma'am, I didn't mean to scare you. I'm Jacob, by the way."

Ma'am? That had to go. It felt like I was talking to a fifty-year old. This girl sounded young, maybe in her late teens. Early twenties were pushing it.

She took my hand and squeezed gently. Another tickle.

"Renesmee," she whispered.

Renesmee? Ruh-nez-may? It was. . . cute. Cute if you like long, confusing names.

"Well, Renesmee, " I said slowly, making sure I pronounced her name correctly. "It was nice to meet you, even if you did smack me." I smiled and reached over, touching her tiny shoulder as I left.

Eight steps to the door, and take a left to exit. Only 7,848 more steps to my house, and a lot more steps to count.

The sun greeted me warmly, beating down on face as I crossed the parking lot.

Renesmee. I smiled. Such a name.

Nesmay. Nesmee. Ness. Nessie.

Yes, I liked the sound of that. _Nessie._ A little name, for a little person.

"Jacob!" her voice called out to me. "Hey, wait!"

W-what? I stopped and turned around, letting her catch up with me.

"Jake, you forgot this,"

Forgot what? I didn't leave anything in the diner. . .

There was silence for a moment, then a little gasp. A realization. And more silence.

Finally, a few tiny fingers wrapped around my wrist; they were too tiny to wrap around completely. Then they placed a small object in my palm.

"You forgot this," Nessie repeated, a little quieter. A little shyer.

I brushed my fingers along the outside of the object. It was thick, an oily leather cover surrounding it. Almost like. . . a wallet?

I recognized the grooves. It was _my_ wallet. How did I. . . how did I not notice losing it? I had always been so careful, double checking my pockets to make sure the wallet was tucked away deep inside. It was a compulsive habit of mine.

And for her to return it? She could've easily taken it and ran. No one thinks twice when the blind man loses his money. It's kind of a given. Part of the full 'personal hell' experience.

"Th-thank you, ma'am. I didn't know that I dropped this." I half-smiled at her thoughtfulness. Why wasn't she. . . weirded out already? Or was she?

I strained and blinked a few times. Trying to make it work. Trying to make myself see.

What I would've just given to see her face, only for a moment.

I shoved the wallet deep in my pocket and half-smiled. Hopefully, Nessie was smiling back. But then she spoke up again.

"Oh! That reminds me. . . Jacob? Don't call me ma'am. It makes me feel old."

Good. I feel your pain.

Chuckling, I held up a hand and waved.

"See you around, Nessie."

. . . And see you soon. That sounded about right.


	2. But You're Beautiful, Don't You Know?

**A/N: **Alright everyone, here is the next chapter for you guys. There's not much to say about this chapter, but I'm really excited about it. Jacob is such a unique and fun character to write.

And I don't own anything, because if I did, I could afford to buy something. . . expensive and fancy. Yeah, something like that.

Enjoy!

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><p><em>Something in the way she moves, <em>  
><em>Attracts me like no other lover.<em>  
><em>Something in the way she woos me.<em>  
><em>I don't want to leave her now.<em>  
><em>-Something, The Beatles-<em>

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><p>You know that song that gets stuck in your head? And it plays over and over again, like a broken record? And no matter how hard you try, you can't stop thinking about it and it drives you crazy? Then you go off and do something rash like splurge on the whole CD or bang your head against a wall?<p>

Well, Nessie was sort of like that. My song. My little bang-your-head-against-a-wall obsession.

And it only took a few days until I couldn't take it anymore. Someone up there was laughing at my misery, because Nessie had my man panties all in a bunch, and I just had to talk to her. I had to.

I didn't know what it was about her, because other girls usually don't stick around for very long. Apparently me being blind makes it difficult for _them_.

Translation : You're a freak and I don't like you anymore. You're bad for my image. Oh my gosh, my hair.

But Nessie was different than those girls. She had a unique strength about her that was interesting. Like having a tough front, but being soft and fragile on the inside. In other words, Nessie was like Sam, except she was a girl and was much, much more attractive.

So I went to the diner and sat down, listening to her heels click gently against the tile. She was busy cleaning, her mop sloshing hard against the sticky floor. That was one thing about working in a restaurant - it was hard. Back-breaking hard. Clean the floors, deal with low pay and annoying customers all day. Yeah, sounds like a _wonderful_ job.

I crossed my arms, waiting for her to notice me. It didn't take long.

The sloshy mop sound paused. "Hey you," she said.

I grinned at the sound of her voice and motioned to the booth across from me. "Hey, Nessie."

She sat down and stretched, making the cutest little groan as she did. I grinned wider, like a creepy old man.

_Hey little girl, sit next to me. I've only been thinking non-stop about you for the past few days._

Yeah, that tended to be a little creepy. Way to go Jake.

She shifted in her seat anxiously. "How'd you get 'Nessie' out of 'Renesmee?'"

I shrugged. "Well, I don't really know. It just. . . sounds right. It's pretty, just like you." That, and try saying Renesmee ten times fast.

But the pretty part. . . I wasn't lying about that. Pretty couldn't even describe her - it wasn't even close. She was beautiful. Breath-takingly so.

Renesmee was easily the most beautiful woman I knew, next to Mom of course.

"You don't know that," Nessie mumbled.

Oh, you have no idea how wrong you are.

"But I _do_ know it, Nessie."

She was silent for a moment, contemplating my response before speaking back up.

"Jacob?" she asked softly. "Why don't you have a walking stick?"

That caught me off guard. A walking stick? What did she think this was? Camping?

I took a steady breath. "You mean a cane?" I corrected gently. I wouldn't get mad. Not at her.

"Yeah."

It was weird, but something snapped in me as she said that. An old, painful memory - the smell of clean, the noise of people coming up to me, touching my face, scribbling down notes. It was so long ago, but so clear. Vividly clear. I could remember everything - noise, smell, taste even. Everything but my sight, like my eyes were glued shut. It was so dark.

"Jacob, honey?" an unfamiliar voice asked, breaking through the general buzz of the room. I heard the shuffle of papers being flipped on a clipboard. "Jacob Black. Can you hear me?"

"Where's. . . where's my m-mommy?"

"Jacob, answer me first. Can you hear me?"

I nodded my head, but I wasn't focused on the annoying voice. Where was Mom? Dad? Where was I?

More scribbling and paper shuffling. "Alright honey. Close your eyes now. They need to rest."

"But. . . my eyes are closed?"

The scene rushed forward in time - me sitting on a paper covered bench, older than before. My knee was bouncing up and down nervously, the flimsy paper crinkling at the movement.

"Are you Jacob Black?" a doctor asked. I could only assume he was looking at me, so I nodded.

"Alright, we need to talk about planning for permanent blindness. Your cornea was damaged badly in the crash, completely burned out. However, there is no obvious physical scarring, so you will no longer need to wear your bandages. Your eyes are completely healed."

"Then why can't I see, doc?" I urged impatiently. If my eyes were completely healed, then I would be able to see. Doctors were so fucking confusing, talking in riddles all the time.

_You're healed but you're not healed, try to make sense of my scientific nonsense I learned in medical school. It means absolutely nothing to you, but it makes me look smart._

"Because, Jacob," the doctor continued. "Your eyes are healed, but your cornea cannot heal itself. It acts like a mirror into your eye, reflecting images back to your brain. Imagine that mirror as completely broken, shattered beyond repair."

Yeah, that analogy would've worked if I knew what a mirror looked like.

The doctor rattled off more bullshit about the eye for a few minutes before adding, "You might want to look into canes for now."

You might want to _look_ into canes? Nice choice of words, doc. That was just another reason why I hated doctors.

"I don't need one," I growled through clenched teeth, both to the doctor and to Nessie. My fist had pounded the table, hard, and she jumped back in her seat.

"Sorry," she whispered quickly, touching my fist.

No Ness, it's not you. Don't apologize. I loosened my hand, flipping it so her hand fell into mine, and exhaled slowly. I had scared her.

"No. It's not your fault. I get asked that so many times. I should be able to handle it by now."

Her hand tightened around mine. "People are afraid of change, Jake. Of not being normal. They don't. . . they don't know what to think or do or how to react. You are no different than any of them."

She didn't get it. Just admit it, admit that I'm a monster and leave. Don't lead me on like this - making me believe in things like happy endings, that just didn't exist.

Life wasn't a fucking Disney story.

"Nessie," I pleaded. "You don't understand. I'm blind. I _am_ different."

"And I'm allergic to bees."

". . . What?"

"I thought we were talking about things that didn't matter," she muttered.

It was literally the sweetest, most sincere thing I have ever heard in my life. My heart was literally doing flips in my chest, over and over. This girl was amazing.

"Thank you, Renesmee. Thank you." Thank you for being the sweetest, most wonderful person I have ever met. For caring.

Thank you, thank you, tha-

"Renesmee! Stop flirting with the customers! You might scare them off," Sam yelled, interrupting my train of thought.

I shot a glare in his direction, not knowing if he saw it or not. Fuck off, Sam.

"Actually Sam, my duties here are done," Renesmee said, a little too happily. That made me jealous, a little more than it should.

I knew Sam was married and all that, but it still hurt. It still hurt my large, over-sensitive ego.

I cleared my throat nervously, bringing Nessie's attention back to me.

"Maybe we could continue this talk another time?" I asked. "When you're not working?"

Please say yes. Please. Say yes, and I will die happy.

"No, Jake. I'm sorry. . . I - I don't date men. . . or other people," she said nervously.

Of course. The 'I don't date' card was played on the table. I had heard it all before.

What did it really meant was - _I'm not interested._

But Nessie was too sweet and caring and wouldn't do that, right? She wasn't like other girls, I reminded myself.

"As friends then?" I asked, taking a slightly different approach.

"I don't know."

Oh. That's how it was. "It's okay," I lied.

I stood up then and stretched. Might as well go home now, before it gets dark. Not that it mattered or anything, but I would prefer not getting hit by a car. Again.

Although, that would end my suffering a lot quicker.

Then Nessie spoke up. "Do you have a ride?"

I shook my head.

"Do you need a ride?"

"I'll be okay." Of course I would. There was no need to pity the blind guy.

"No, it's raining outside." She stood up and wrapped her tiny hand around my arm. "C'mon, I'll give you a ride home."

I didn't argue with that.

The rain was pouring when we exited, soaking us in no time. Nessie tugged on my arm, running and laughing all the way to her car. I waited for her to find her keys and tilted my head back, opening my mouth wide. A cool raindrop feel between my lips.

Nessie laughed, breaking my concentration. Another raindrop hit me in the nose. "What are you doing?"

"Catching raindrops," I replied, smiling a little. Hadn't she ever done this? What kind of poor child never caught raindrops? Especially in Forks, for that matter. When you were bored, you went outside and caught raindrops. No big deal.

"What's it taste like?" she asked curiously. I paused for a moment - was she serious or just teasing me?

"Uhm. . . water?"

Nessie laughed - a beautiful, tinkling sound- and smacked my chest lightly. "Get in the car, silly."

I obeyed, ducking my head as I sat down on the leather upholstery. "Hey, it's not my fault you ask dumb questions."

She hmphed, and crawled into the driver's side, turning the key hard. The car sputtered a few times before coughing to life, very slowly. To be honest, I thought it would die right there.

"Your car sounds like crap."

Correction: Your car sounds like a dying cat. Let me check it out for you, because I really don't want to get stuck in a rainy parking lot.

Although, if I was stuck with you all night, that would be a different situation. With a much different, happier ending.

"Hey now," Nessie defended, like the poor car had feelings. "She still runs okay. Somewhat."

Yeah. Somewhat.

She switched gears and the car crawled out of the parking lot.

"So where am I taking you?"

Uh, good question. "Head to Main Street first."

I think. It's hard to know where you are while riding in a car. Blindly, I might add.

"How do you usually get home?" Renesmee asked.

"I count steps and take note of my surroundings. There should be a big box on your left, probably a mail box."

Yeah, because I had run into the damn box before, much to the amusement of other pedestrians.

She drove a little more. "Now where?"

I was about to tell her directions to go straight to my house, but then I had a plan. Of sorts.

"Keep going straight, then pull into the Dairy Cream lot. My house is right there."

Yeah, my house is in the Dairy Cream parking lot. Because that sounded totally normal.

Renesmee giggled. "You live in the freezer?"

I shushed her, a smile playing on my lips. She took a hard right into the parking lot before coming to a stop, a little confused.

"Ice cream?" I offered, whistling happily and hopping out of the car.

". . . W-what?"

"You said you wouldn't go on a date with me, so I compromised. You get ice cream and I get to talk to you." It seemed like a good idea at the time. A win-win situation.

. . . But she was angry, which was something I hadn't even thought of. I mentally smacked myself.

"Unless you're uncomfortable with it," I added quickly.

It was silent for a while, and I wasn't sure what scared me most - the silence, or her upcoming reaction.

"So. . . you kidnapped me for ice cream?"

I frowned. It sounded much worse the way she said it. "Kidnapped? You drove here willingly."

More damn silence. And then a slightly-annoyed-but-secretly-happy sigh.

"Okay, Jacob. You're buying though."

Score.

We both got ice cream cones but had to eat in the car. The restaurant was closing soon, and the manager was so close to dragging us out by our toes. It didn't bother me though. I got to be closer to Nessie in a tiny old car.

"So, Jake," Nessie began slowly. I heard her seat creak as she leaned back. "What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a mechanic actually. You'd be surprised, but I know a car like the back of my hand. And your car here" - I tapped the car window. - "is slower than most cows I know. I think I'll call her Bessie. Nessie's Bessie."

Well, that was a little much. But her car really was slow. I really would have to tune it up sometime before she got stuck somewhere.

But then she giggled. "You never told me you had cows for friends."

She'd be surprised at what I had for friends. I would have to take her to a bonfire one of these days. Embry would get a kick out of it.

"Is that your girlfriend?" he would say, elbowing me in the ribs. "She's _really_ sexy."

He was more of a pig than a cow. A very horny pig.

"I've been to a farm once or twice when I was younger," I explained, smiling a little. "Then I spent all my time fixing cars with Sam, your boss. Then he decided to open up the diner. We still talk though. He's mentioned you a couple of times."

That was a lie. He hadn't even said a word about her, which was weird. Sam always was pushing me to start dating again, so I wondered why he never mentioned Renesmee.

"So, what do you like to do?" I asked, distracting myself.

"I like to garden. My mom used to do it with me," she mumbled softly, like she was holding something back.

". . .Used to?"

"She died when I was twelve. Car accident."

Oh, Nessie. That's what she was hiding.

I leaned over the armrest and reached for her hand, which she took slowly.

"The same thing happened to my parents," I said, remembering that fateful day.

"Where's mommy?" I had asked, hot tears falling down my cheeks. No one was answering me. No one was listening. "Mommy! Daddy!"

Nothing.

I sniffled, my voice a little quieter. A little less hopeful. "Mommy? Daddy?"

"Jacob?" A feminine voice behind me surprised me, and I turned around. I didn't understand why everything was missing. My sight, mommy, daddy. Everything was gone.

"You're so adorable," the woman whispered, brushing the hair out of my face. That didn't answer my question.

"Do you know where Mommy is?"

"Sweetheart, your mommy is gone."

_Gone?_ Like, on a vacation? Daddy sometimes brought us to California for a vacation. . . maybe that's where they went.

It took a while, a few years actually, before I could actually grasp the concept of 'being gone.' And never coming back.

Death.

And Nessie had to deal with the same thing.

"Let's get you home, Jake," she said quietly, letting go of my hand.

I took a deep breath. "If you keep going down this road, my house should be the first one on the left."

She drove forward, the steady beat of the wipers and the sputtering of the car the only sounds exchanged between us. I was tempted to turn on the radio, but I wasn't sure if it even worked. This car had a cassette player for crying out loud. It was _that_ old.

Well, I haven't listened to tapes since I was a child, which made them old in my opinion. But I guess they were 'hip' back in the day. Technology of the future. . . until the year 2000.

She slowed the car down to a crawl and pulled over. I guess it was my stop.

"Goodnight Nessie. Call me sometime, okay? I should be in the phonebook, if you still have one. "

Or you can just come over to my house, that's good too.

"Of course," she said, happily.

I got out of the car and headed inside, listening to Nessie's car sputter off into the distance as I shut the door.

That night, all I dreamt of was Nessie. Her honey sounding laugh, vibrating softly and sweetly in my head. It had a color, but I wasn't sure what it was. I was told that honey was a golden brown color. Whatever that looked like.

But that must be it - the 'golden' sparks of her laugh, soothing me, and at the same time haunting me, like that stupid song stuck in your head. But Nessie wasn't stupid, not at all. She was the complete opposite.

And I didn't mind having her in my head. In fact, Renesmee was the best thing in there.

I intended to keep it that way.


End file.
